


Life Could Not Better Be

by lirin



Category: The Court Jester (1955)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24569161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirin/pseuds/lirin
Summary: Life doesn't stop just because the true king is on the throne. Gwendolyn escapes the castle; Hawkins and Jean look after England (and its new king); and Griswold finds he hasn't lost his chance at gaining a bride after all.
Relationships: Griswold of MacElwain/Princess Gwendolyn, Hubert Hawkins/Maid Jean
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8
Collections: Fandom 5K 2020





	1. Gwendolyn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elsin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsin/gifts).



She hadn't seen Father or Griselda since those last few chaotic moments in the great hall, when Giacomo had called for peace and everyone had listened—and when he had produced the true heir and set the babe on the throne.

Gwendolyn had been heir to that throne, once. She had been a pawn in her father's plans, to be used in whatever way would do him the most good. Now she was nothing but a woman whose father would no doubt be executed on the morrow. And what of her own fate? She wasn't sure what they intended for her. At least they hadn't taken her to the dungeons, the way they had Father and Griselda. There were guards placed outside the door of her rooms, but those rooms also had a window.

She wondered if they expected her to jump, and thus rid them of an unneeded complication. Giacomo hadn't seemed the type to be so callous—but then, had she ever truly known him? He'd been the Black Fox all along, only feigning love to her to further his aims.

Her father, doomed to die. Her lover, an odious impostor. Her future throne, the possession of a birthmarked babe. There was nothing left for her here.

And if Giacomo could climb in that window, then she could climb out.

But there were preparations to be made, first. She had a decoction of walnut husks on her side table. Griselda had used it from time to time out of vanity, to keep her hair the same color as it had been in her youth—though Gwendolyn was unsure why she bothered, considering she spoiled the effect with a gray veil over the top. But now it would serve a more worthwhile purpose. Pulling a pair of fine leather gloves over her hands to protect them from the stain, Gwendolyn poured the liquid over her hair and worked it through the strands. When she took up her hand mirror again, dark tresses falling around her shoulders, she didn't recognize herself. Next came the clothes. She had stolen them from one of the guardrooms the day her father had ordered her to marry Griswold, before she had decided that it would be simpler just to drink poison. She supposed it would still be simpler now to drink poison, but after everything she'd made it through, she didn't feel like giving up quite yet. She unfastened her dress and let it slide to the floor, where it lay next to the veil she had discarded earlier. She stepped into the tight breeches and pulled them up. They fit snugly around her thighs and calves, but pooled at the waist, threatening to slip down. She rummaged through her workbox until she found some rich gold cord that could double as a belt. She looped it twice around her waist and tied it, then moved on to the shirt and jerkin.

Her hair came last. She supposed it would be best to cut it, but her captors had known better than to leave her a blade. If she attempted to go at it with her embroidery scissors, she'd still be here by the time they made up their minds whether to execute her. Instead, she pinned her newly-brown hair up as tightly and neatly as she could, and shoved a plain cloth cap over the lot. That would have to suffice.

The castle wall stretched far below her window, and below that there was nothing but the cruel uncaring sea. But she needn't attempt to reach it, and indeed she could not. All her bedsheets, ripped into strips and tied together, were scarcely enough to reach from where she had tied them to her bedpost, out the window, and to the window down below. She hoped no one was in the room below her, for she saw no other options. With one last glance around the room—the room from which she had first beheld Giacomo and felt what she had taken for true love; the room in which she had first been wooed as a princess should be wooed—she swung her breeches-clad leg over the windowsill and set off for freedom.

There was no light shining from the window below, which boded well. Even better, once she gained the inside of the room, she found that the door was open just enough to hear whether there was movement in the corridor beyond. Gwendolyn tiptoed across the room and leaned against the wall to the left of the doorway, waiting for silence.

Silence was a long time coming. Giacomo's men were all about the castle, securing their new domain. She supposed they had the right of it, though it galled her to think it. But as long as she could escape her erstwhile home in peace, she didn't think it much mattered anymore whether they were right or wrong.

When, finally, there were no voices from the corridor, she slipped quietly through the door. She must feign confidence. She had belonged in these corridors for many months; she had to remember what that felt like, and show that she still belonged here now. She was a young man of no account, she told herself: probably a member of the Black Fox's band running an errand for him. Even if someone saw her, they would think nothing of it. She had every right to be here. With that in mind, she held her chin high and stepped through the door.

The halls of her former home looked much as she remembered them, despite all that had changed in the last few hours. She hurried along, just one busy errand boy in a sea of busy people. Nobody she passed seemed to notice her, too preoccupied with their own affairs. For the first time, she thought that her plan might actually work. She only needed to get to the gate, and then—well, and then whatever came after the gate. She wasn't entirely sure what she would do then, but there was no need to worry about that now. First she had to get out of the castle.

Her path led her down one corridor, up another, past the entrance to the great hall, and then out of the keep and across the courtyard. That would be the most dangerous part, for the castle's new owners might be more scrupulous about who came in and out than they were about verifying who was wandering their halls. She tugged at the tight collar of her jerkin and kept walking. She only had to act as if she had the right to be here. Just as much right as everyone she was walking past without a second look.

She stepped out the high oaken doors into the courtyard, and saw him. The man she had once been pledged to marry, the man she had thought she hated, even as she had thought she loved another. Sir Griswold was standing with his men at one side of the yard. He wasn't even looking at her, so why was her heart pounding? She just had to keep walking. Two steps, four steps—she glanced back to see whether he had noticed her, and even as she glanced, he looked up and his eyes met hers. She glanced away quickly and walked faster, but it was too late. "Ho there, lad!" She ignored the command—there must be many lads around the courtyard, after all—but a moment later, running feet pounded heavily across the courtyard behind her. She turned as a hand touched her arm, and found herself looking straight into the eyes of Sir Griswold himself. She hadn't thought the man capable of running that fast.

"Sir Griswold," she said, forcing her voice as low as she could. "Do you have an errand you wish me to run?"

"Perhaps," Sir Griswold replied. "But it might be better if we discussed it privately. Will you follow me?"

She didn't dare object, but followed him to the second guardhouse, where he and his men seemed to be quartered. He led her past the assortment of men in the main center room who sprang to their feet as Sir Griswold entered, and into a small side room with a bedstead, desk, armoire, dressing table, and other furniture that were not usually found in a guardhouse. In fact, Gwendolyn was quite certain she recognized the dressing table as one belonging to the northwest guest room.

"I'm more comfortable out here," Sir Griswold said, no doubt noting the direction of her gaze and realizing the tenor of her thoughts. "It's simpler, not having a room inside the castle with so many lords and ladies all clamoring for a piece of the pie now that there's a new king. And you, I think"—he turned to face her, and put his hands on her shoulders—"you're more comfortable out here, too, aren't you?"

"I...I don't know what you mean, Sir Griswold," Gwendolyn did her best to growl. "I'm just running errands."

"You have a very pretty face, Princess Gwendolyn," Sir Griswold replied. "You've disguised yourself nicely, but I've spent too much time thinking about that face to be fooled by boy's clothes and dye."

"I suppose there's no use arguing with you," she murmured. "You have the right of it: I am Gwendolyn. But no longer a princess."

"But still the fairest woman I have ever laid eyes upon," said Sir Griswold.

"I thank you for your courtesy," Gwendolyn said, "but I beg you, don't keep me in suspense any longer. What are you going to do with me?"

"Nothing you do not wish, fair lady. But I would beg of you to reconsider my request for your hand. I pledged ereyestereve that this heart beats only for love of the lady Gwendolyn. I am a man of my word, and though your fortunes have changed, still I love you. Will you do me the honor of becoming my bride?"

Of all the ends Gwendolyn had thought her escape attempt might achieve, this was one she had never considered. She stared at Sir Griswold in confusion. Surely he could not be serious. This must be some sort of trick, to get her guard down so it would be easier for him to drag her back before the Black Fox and the babe for judgment. Surely...

He did not importune her further, but simply stood there solidly, gazing at her face. For a moment, Gwendolyn allowed pictures of what could be to drift through her mind. To be lady of a castle in the north...to have a man at her side who had thought her hand something worth fighting for... But no, it was a mirage, nothing more. She shook her head. "I am sorry, Sir Griswold. Your offer is chivalrous, but I cannot accept it."

"Very well," he said. "Follow me."

Gwendolyn reached for her skirts, to stride past him in a rustle of silk with a perfect coiffure as a princess ought when she was facing doom, but her hands found only empty air. She parlayed the movement into tugging at the bottom of her jerkin, and hoped Sir Griswold hadn't noticed her momentary confusion. If he had, he made no comment. He led her out of the guardhouse and across the courtyard, but not back towards the great keep that she had just left. Instead, he marched towards the open gate that led out of the castle to the north, with the coast road stretching before it.

"My messenger needs to travel north right away," he told one of the gate guards. "Fetch him a fast horse."

Gwendolyn stared at him, hardly believing her ears. Surely this was a mistake. Surely there was some other messenger that even now was being sent to bear news of her escape—

Sir Griswold turned to face her. "Do you have need of anything else before you depart? Gold for the journey? A pass for safe conduct? I'm not sure how much my name is worth in these turbulent times, but for whatever it is worth, here." He led her into the gatehouse, found pen and paper among the scattered detritus on its single table, and wrote in a passably neat hand: _The bearer is on a mission for Sir Griswold of MacElwain and is to be extended every courtesy._ He rolled the paper up and handed it to her.

"I...thank you," Gwendolyn said as politely as she could, though inside she felt entirely at sea.

"I wish you a safe journey," Sir Griswold said, leading her out of the gatehouse to where the guard had already returned with a horse. "And may you find happiness." He cupped his hands for her to place her knee in as she mounted.

"Thank you," Gwendolyn said again. The gate stood open before her, and no one stopped her as she rode through it and onto the coast road. She urged her horse to a trot, heading north for now so as not to give the lie to Griswold's claims at the gate.

As one stride of the horse followed another without any alarm being given, she began to believe that this was no trick, and neither was it a dream. She was free of the castle. Sir Griswold had let her go.

At her right hip, all the coins and valuables she had been able to find in her chambers nestled in a small purse. Tucked against her heart, Sir Griswold's safe conduct crinkled with each movement of the horse. And in front of her, a wide swath of England stretched out for miles. Somewhere in there, far from everyone she had ever known and loved, she would have to find her new home.

Behind her, there was nothing left for her. Her father would die, and no doubt Griselda as well. Giacomo had never truly loved her. And as for Sir Griswold—

She hadn't intended to think of him as she listed those whom she had cared about and who had cared for her, but after his actions in the courtyard, she supposed it was inevitable. Had he been telling the truth when he pledged his love to her? She was beginning to think that he had.

But it was too late, far too late to think of such things now that she had escaped the castle. It wouldn't make sense to go back now. Much better to continue on, and find a new home somewhere else.

She didn't know what she was going to do next. She didn't know how to find a new home. She didn't know if she would ever find happiness.

She kept riding, for lack of anything else to do.


	2. Hawkins

Dinners in the great hall were a far less merry affair than the one Hawkins had attended under King Roderick, but Hawkins didn't mind at all. As the one who'd previously been providing the entertainment, he thought that today's quiet dinner was far less stressful. And he had all the entertainment he needed, just sitting here, watching Jean eat a chicken leg with one hand and write out a list of potential ministers of state with the other. He'd seen her in so many guises over the past few days—the practical captain's garb she assumed so often; the burgundy dress she'd worn when she'd traveled alongside him as his granddaughter; the green silk he'd been so shocked to see her in when he'd thought her far away, safely at the abbey; the orange dress she'd worn on the day that their victory was made complete. She was beautiful in all of them, and she was beautiful now, in a simple blue gown that she'd tossed some sort of veil or wrap over the top of. In fact, Hawkins was pretty sure that he didn't care what Jean was wearing. As long as he was gazing at his beloved Jean, he would count himself quite content.

One of the servers brought a platter around. "More chicken?" Hawkins asked Jean, taking some for himself.

Jean laid down her pen. "No, I think I've had enough. Though if there's any of the berry pastries left, I wouldn't say no to one of those. It's hard to get good pastries when you're hiding in a forest with no ovens."

"I think the server over there has some," Hawkins said, waving at the man in question until he turned and walked their way. "You're right, this is one thing that's definitely better than hiding out in the forest."

"Are you going to miss it?" Jean asked, loading up her plate with two pastries—one blueberry, the other blackberry. Hawkins reached past her and took a blueberry pastry for himself. "Not hiding out in the forest perhaps, but having a clear objective to fight for, having a home where we knew everyone was like-minded and united for a common cause."

"You make it sound so fine," Hawkins said. "And maybe I will, a little. But we still have something to fight for. We need to help preserve England until the day that the baby is ready to rule on his own. And we need to make sure that he's protected from anybody who may come after Roderick, who would wish him harm and want to seize the throne in their turn." He took a bite of chicken, then realized what she hadn't said. "Are _you_ going to miss it?" he asked.

"I don't know yet," she said. "I suppose this place ought to be our home now, but it doesn't feel like home. At least when it was the enemy's home and we were spies in it, I knew which way was up."

"We'll make a home out of it together," Hawkins said.

There was a bustle at the door and one of the Black Fox's men entered. "Princess Gwendolyn's rooms were empty when we went to bring her dinner," he said. "She must have escaped."

"Have someone search the castle," Jean said, and beckoned the man forward so she could speak more quietly. "Just one person, though, and don't search too hard. We won't be particularly disappointed if she escapes, just as long as she doesn't try to kill anybody on her way out. I don't think she's a killer, but it wouldn't do to find out the hard way that I'm wrong." She dismissed the man, and she and Hawkins watched him go. "Well, that solves the question of what to do with the princess," Jean said, lifting one of the pastries to her lips and taking a large bite. "Mmm, delicious. I didn't think she ought to be killed, as there is no reason to believe she was involved in her father's crimes. But it would be quite the hassle to hold her prisoner indefinitely, and all in all it will be much easier if she just leaves this all behind. I hope she'll be happy."

"I hope she will, too," Hawkins said. "Maybe she'll find someone she can love for who he is, and not just for whatever she imagined me to be."

"I still don't quite understand what happened. Either you were walking around during the time that you were asleep, or someone who looked exactly like you. When I gave you the key, I was certain that it was you I was speaking to. If there was someone who looked exactly like you in the castle, I would think we would have come across him by now. Perhaps you were sleepwalking?"

"It's as good an explanation as any. I don't even remember falling asleep. And I still don't know where her handkerheart—er, handkerchief—came from."

"Well, all's well that ends well, and that goes for us as well as for Gwendolyn. We won the war, and that's enough for me." Jean finished her last bite of berry pastry and wiped her fingers on a napkin. "Would you like me to give you a handkerchief of my own, to carry next to your heart?"

"I think I've had enough of those to last a lifetime," Hawkins said. "You'll have to find some other sort of token. Perhaps"—he did his best to act as if it didn't matter terribly one way or the other—"it would be simplest if we just hurried up and got married, and then your wedding ring would suffice as token for both of us."

She smiled at him, teeth stained blue by the berries. Hawkins thought she had the most captivating smile he'd ever seen. "I did say that would happen, once our fight for freedom was won."

"I know you didn't expect it to happen nearly so soon," Hawkins said quickly. "I don't expect—that is, if you want to wait—I mean—"

"Hawkins!" she said, laughing. "I would kiss you now to show you what I think of that idea, but I'm afraid it would distract the men to see exactly how capable their captain is of being a woman."

"Then you'll marry me soon?"

She was still laughing and smiling. "Yes, as soon as it can be arranged. Do you want a very large wedding? I suppose perhaps we ought to wait until after the coronation, unless you want a very small wedding. I have no preference either way. You said you had family still, in the town you grew up in. Ought we to send for them?"

That was a lot of questions when all Hawkins wanted to do was stare at Jean's face and wish she'd followed through on that kiss, hall full of people or no hall full of people. Before he could decide which of the questions to eventually get around to answering first, there was another bustle at the entry to the great hall, and the Black Fox walked in.

"Maid Jean, Hawkins!" he said, striding up to their table. "How go all the arrangements?"

"Well so far, sir, but there's a lot of them," Hawkins said.

"I've made lists of who you might consider for the king's council of ministers, sir," Jean said. "We want a mix of our own people as well as people who served Roderick but did not support his actions, and maybe a few townsfolk as well, to get a common perspective. I've included some possibilities in each category as much as I could, as you'll see when you look over the lists."

"We've also been working on planning the coronation," Hawkins put in. "We've come up with some general ideas, but before we can move on to specifics, it would be better if we knew who's going to be regent, so they can have input. Will that be you, sir?"

"I hardly think so," the Black Fox replied. "I've been the head of a revolt against the king of England. Even though it was for a good cause, to put me at the head of this new government will hardly brand it as legitimate. And besides, I have someone far better in mind. Well, two someones."

"Are they good with babies?" Hawkins asked. "Because you have to remember, they won't just be leading a government, they'll be taking care of a child."

"Do they care about England?" Jean added. "It needs to be someone who wants what's best for England, and isn't just in it for the power."

"I think they've both shown themselves to be good with babies, or rather with this infant in particular," the Black Fox said. "And I think they've made it quite clear that the welfare of England is far more important to them than their own personal welfare. But further than that, you'll have to tell me. Maid Jean, Sir Hawkins, you took good care of the babe and of England during the mission of the last few days, and I think it only right that you continue with those duties in a more official capacity, as regents to the King of England until he is of age."

"B–b–but are you sure?" Hawkins asked, staring at the Black Fox. Maybe he was sleepwalking again. He was just a runaway carnival entertainer; he'd already gotten lucky enough having a woman like Jean in his life, but he'd never dreamed of something like this. He reached his hand out under the table and found Jean's. She squeezed his hand and didn't speak. Hawkins wondered if she was staring in shock, too. She'd put so much thought into all those lists of who might serve the king well in different roles, but she hadn't said anything about what role she hoped to take in the new king's government. Had she assumed, as Hawkins had, that the Black Fox would be regent?

"Quite sure," said the Black Fox. "But I don't need an answer now. You can take some time to think it over. I have more errands to run now, but I'll be back tomorrow. You can tell me your decision then."

"Yes, sir," Hawkins said, still in a blur. He clutched Jean's hand as they watched the Black Fox depart. "Do you want to—" he said finally.

"I suppose we ought—" Jean said in the same moment. She squeezed his hand again.

"We should discuss it more after dinner, when we can speak in private," Hawkins said.

"And here I'd been hoping that if we were finally able to find some time to be in private, I could give you that kiss we were speaking of earlier."

"Oh, that too," Hawkins said. His chicken leg finally finished, he picked up the blueberry pastry and bit into it blissfully. For all there was to be said for living in the forest, living in the castle definitely had its perks. "I've been looking forward to it."

He wasn't sure, though, whether he was looking forward to being a regent. He'd never thought of himself as being the right person for a job like that, but then he wasn't sure who _would_ be the right person. But somebody had to do it, and he supposed there were plenty of people who would be even worse at it than him.

And besides, Jean would be a natural at regenting. She was good at everything from riding to captaining to plotting to kissing; she'd be good at this too. And Hawkins thought that he could be good enough at it, as long as he had her beside him.


	3. Griswold

Griswold sat on his bed in the second guardhouse, stripping off his armor. He could still see the place on the floor where Gwendolyn had stood before she'd walked (well, ridden) out of his life for the last time. Could still feel the gentle touch of her hand in his, and remember the sparkling eyes he would never gaze into again. He'd come here to this castle for a bride, and he'd found the woman to whom he was promised to be as fair as she was reported—and then he'd lost her twice over.

And now he would have to return to the north empty-handed. At least he had not ended up fighting on the wrong side in the brief war, and could serve the new king with a clear conscience. But he feared for England over the years to come. A child king was always a risk for a country, for true control would sit not in his hands but in the hands of his regents, and Griswold knew not who those would be. The rebel leader, the Black Fox, seemed the most likely, as the commander of all those who had taken the castle. Griswold had had brief words with the Black Fox earlier in the evening, and found him brave enough; but he knew not what the man would do with more power.

As for the Black Fox's lieutenants, Griswold knew not what to make of them. He had thought he had the measure of Giacomo—a fool, a coward, and a simpleton—but then it had been revealed that that was all an elaborate ploy. He had not yet had opportunity for words with the man, whose true name had been revealed to be Hawkins, beyond when he had spoken to him "as knight to knight" before the crowd in the great hall. Perhaps on the morrow, he ought to seek Hawkins out, and find out what the man was really like.

There was a soft tapping sound from the one window of his small bedchamber. For a moment, he thought that the shutter must be loose. But then the tapping ceased and began again, several times, in a rhythmic pattern that could only come from a person. Griswold frowned. He picked up his sword, but deciding he was safe enough—and that there were some he'd rather not frighten if they felt it necessary to come to his window in the middle of the night—he set it back down before pushing open the shutter. The person outside was scarcely visible in the dark, with no golden tresses to catch the moonlight anymore, but he knew her face at once.

"You let me go," she said.

"You didn't leave," he replied. He reached his arms out the window and helped her to climb through. "Are you all right? Was the safe conduct insufficient?"

"I am well enough," Gwendolyn replied, seating herself upon the large oaken chest at the foot of his bed. "I had thought that I would decide what to do next with my life once I had left the castle behind me, but I came to realize that I had too little ahead of me and had left too much behind. That is, if you still—"

Griswold bowed low. "I still think you the fairest lady I have ever met, and I still think that you would do me honor if you consented to be my bride."

"Then yes," she said. "Yes, I will. I have come to realize that you are an honorable man, and I have come to realize that that is a much more important thing than the hollow ardency that the man who called himself Giacomo offered me. You did not take advantage of my situation, but rather let me go. And not only that, but you took pains to ease my travel. As I rode north, your actions weighed on my mind, and I realized that I regretted rejecting your offer. Sir Griswold, I would be honored if you would take me as your wife."

"I will," Griswold said. He reached out his hands to her, almost as he had done when they stood in his room earlier in the day, but this time instead of grasping her shoulders, he slipped his hands into hers. Her hands were soft and delicate, the brush of her skin against his so much more tender than anything he usually had reason to touch in the course of his day. With hesitant movements, slowly growing more bold as she made no move to stop him, he slipped the boy's cap off of her head and took the pins out of her dark hair, one by one, until her tresses once more tumbled over her shoulders, unveiled and unrestrained. "I wish I could give you a grand wedding," he said, "and stand before half of England and all of the north when I pledge myself to you. But for your safety, my dear"—and that word did not feel nearly as out of place on his tongue as he had expected it to—"it would be better if we were wed before anyone knows of our intent. You are your father's daughter, and no doubt there are some who would wish to lump you with him as a usurper. But if we present our marriage as an accomplished fact, there are few who would hate you enough to pursue the matter further—and fewer still who would wish to make me their enemy by so doing."

Gwendolyn nodded. "Wisely spoken," she said. "I will marry you whenever and wherever you choose."

"Tonight? Now?"

She smiled. "Yes, I will marry you right now. I can lead you to the chapel, unless you already know the way?"

He kissed her hand as gallantly as he could. "Lead on, fair lady, and I will follow."

She led him across the courtyard, into the keep, and up and down passageways until he was glad indeed that he had not tried to find it himself. They passed few people as they walked, so late at night as it was; and those they passed did not seem to see any need to question the goings of Sir Griswold of MacElwain, trusted baron of the new king, nor of the apparent long-haired lad who walked beside him. When finally they reached the door to the priest's chambers that stood next to the chapel, Gwendolyn stepped back. "Better if you knock and tell him what we wish," she said. "I would use my true name in the wedding ceremony, but there is no reason to draw attention to my presence any sooner than we must."

The priest was none too happy at being woken from a sound slumber, but Griswold soon convinced him—with the aid of several pieces of gold—that the fastest way to rid himself of the interruption was to do as Griswold asked and perform the ceremony. Side by side, Griswold and Gwendolyn knelt as the priest hurried through the words of the sacred rite. They made a pretty picture: Griswold half in his nightclothes except for his mail shirt that he had not yet removed, Gwendolyn in boy's clothes with dark hair gently caressing her shoulders, and the priest in his own nightclothes with his habit thrown over the top. In all the years that Griswold had thought about being married someday, this was never how he had pictured it, and yet he felt terribly happy. He loved the woman at his side, and that was enough.

The priest showed no interest in lingering when the ceremony was complete. He spoke not another word to them, but went back into his chambers and closed the door, leaving them to do as they pleased in the chapel. Griswold kissed his bride quite zealously, and she kissed him back with equal enthusiasm.

"I will do my best to be a good husband to you," he told her after a while, when they paused for air. "I know when you first met me that I did not seem to you to be someone you would wish to be married to, but I hope that I will be far better than that first impression seemed."

"That was never truly about you," Gwendolyn said. "It was about my father. You see, he wished to marry me off to someone not of my choice. He did not ask what I wanted, but rather told me that like it or not, I would be marrying the grim and grisly Griswold. But now, I have separated my fate from my father's, and taken my life in my own hands. I have married the man that I chose myself: the grand and gracious Griswold. And there's nothing my father can do about it." She laughed, and leaned towards him to continue their previous occupation.

"We should return to my chambers before the castle wakens," Griswold said, as loath as he was to discourage her in that most appreciable endeavor.

She nodded, and hand in hand they retraced their steps through the castle corridors.

"When we return to the north," he said when they reached the courtyard, where the noise of men and of animals was enough at all hours that they need not keep entire silence, "I will throw you a marriage banquet that befits a princess, with all the finery that this ceremony was missing." He unlatched the door to the guardhouse and led her past his sleeping men and into his chambers. "But the rest of our marriage celebration is for two alone, in the dark, and so it matters not how numerous the guests or how fine the garments."

There in the dark, her hand slipped into his his, her touch soft, like a silken feather. "Little of that matters to me anymore. I have wed a man who loves me, and I am glad of what I have found."

He smiled, and although he couldn't see his wife's face in the dark, he felt sure she was smiling too.


	4. Jean

There were so many arrangements to make, and so little time to make them in. Jean hurried around the castle, thinking through her plans for the ceremony at the same time that she answered questions from one passerby after another. The Black Fox had advised that the child ought to be officially crowned within the week, and the investiture of the regents held in the same ceremony. Jean agreed that it was wise not to wait any longer. She and Hawkins had also decided to hold their wedding around the same time so that all the pomp and finery could be reused, though they had yet to decide whether it would be part of one overloaded ceremony or whether they might hold it the evening before or after. Better before, if so, she thought—for an unmarried couple to take joint custody of the child might provoke comment, and though it would only be for a day, yet it would be easier to sidestep the whole issue. The child's new reign had enough dubiety brought upon it by the fate of King Roderick, not to mention the fact that the child himself was an infant; Jean feared enough for him and for the years ahead as it was, without giving herself more worries if they could possibly be avoided.

Her errands had brought her across the castle at least three times today, yet somehow she hadn't run into Hawkins anywhere about. It was said it was bad luck for a bride to see her groom before the wedding, but Jean had never believed in luck, and besides, she enjoyed looking at Hawkins. She might as well take a break and seek him out. Perhaps he had gone in for dinner already; the bell would ring soon.

She peeked into the great hall to see if he was there. The room was nearly empty, but at the head table near the throne, Hawkins was indeed there, sitting with the child in his lap and a bowl of watered-down gruel in front of him. "Just a little bit more," he said. "Here comes the birdie!" He made a variety of tweeting sounds as he "flew" the spoonful of gruel down into the giggling infant's mouth.

Hawkins hadn't seen her yet, but Jean made no move to catch his eye. She felt content to stand and watch the man she had consented to marry and the child she had consented to raise.

Quite a bit of the gruel, it seemed, had made its way onto both Hawkins's jerkin and the child's shirt, but the child seemed happy enough so some at least must have entered his belly. All of Hawkins's considerable skills as an entertainer were at work before her, and the infant, though not his most appreciative audience, looked happy enough. And Hawkins, too, looked happy. He didn't just care about the infant king for the power he could get from him; he cared about the king as a person, as a child that he had spent so much time looking out for. Hawkins was so kind and thoughtful, not just to the infant, but to everyone. That was why he was going to be a good regent, and that was why he was going to be a good husband.

And that was why Jean loved him.

She must have made a small movement, or perhaps the child was finally cooperating enough that Hawkins could spare the time from his feeding to look around. He saw her there in the doorway, and his eyes lit up. "Jean! I thought I'd give the infant an early dinner. He gets so distracted when the hall is full that he scarcely eats sometimes. The Black Fox said he'll eat when he's hungry, but I thought I ought to give him a bit more encouragement."

Jean sat down at the table next to him. "I think that's a fine idea," she said. "Would you like help? I could hold him or feed him if you like."

"I wouldn't want to risk getting gruel on your dress," Hawkins said. "You look so nice in it. Ah, I mean, you look nice in all of your dresses. And in your captain's clothes, too."

"I don't mind," Jean said. "Here." She lifted the infant into her own lap, and held him there while Hawkins spooned up more gruel from the bowl.

"Here's another birdie," Hawkins said. "This one's an eagle, swooping out of the sky." The spoon swooped towards the infant's mouth as Hawkins made a passable imitation of an eagle's cry. Unfortunately, the child did not open his mouth as the spoon swept towards it, and so some of the gruel bounced off onto his shirt front. He reached up and grabbed the bowl of the spoon, spreading the remainder of the gruel over both hands.

"Here, let Hawkins take the spoon back," Jean said, laughing.

"You see why I wanted him to have a chance to eat alone," Hawkins said. "He's already distracted enough as it is. I can't imagine what dinners will be like for him as he gets older, with courtiers all wanting a chance to speak with him and impress him, and the child just wanting to run and play."

"We'll have to make sure that we take some meals privately," Jean said.

"How go the preparations for the ceremony? Everyone tells me you're doing a marvelous job."

"I do hope I am. It's a bit of a rush, but we have enough finery and structures from the tournament that can be reused, that I feel certain everything will be ready in time. One issue was raised in the meeting today, though, that I thought I should ask your thoughts on."

"Hmm?" Hawkins gave up on the last bit of gruel in the bowl and started wiping the child's hands with a napkin.

"There is some question as to whether you ought to be called 'Sir Hawkins' or not," Jean said. "You were knighted by the false king, and under false pretenses, and some say that the title is undeserved. If you wish me to push for the title all the same, I will, and I think they will yield. But I wanted to ask you if it mattered to you before I discussed it further with anyone."

"Well, I didn't actually do most of what everybody else does when they become a knight, and besides, I was knighted under the name Giacomo, but—" He glanced quickly up at her. "Do _you_ want me to be called 'Sir Hawkins'? Would you rather be married to a knight?"

"I'd rather be married to Hawkins," Jean said. "I know that you are noble, honorable, and virtuous; it didn't take a knighthood to tell me that. As for a word in front of your name, I don't much care one way or another for myself, but I care if you do."

"If you don't mind, then I don't either," Hawkins said. "I'll leave the decision up to you."

"I'll see which way the wind blows at the meeting tomorrow morning," Jean said. Others were starting to enter the hall for dinner, and so she lowered her voice. "If I'm not the only one who wishes you to retain the title, I'll see if any of them wish to speak up about it. If not, then it's probably more important not to start our government with disagreements over small things."

"You're absolutely right," Hawkins said. "You're very good at this. You're going to make a fine regent."

"So are you," Jean said with a smile.

The hall was beginning to fill as more and more diners entered. Jean looked up just as Sir Griswold entered the hall, clasping the hand of a dark-haired woman. "I thought she left," Hawkins said, and Jean realized that it was Gwendolyn.

"Your Highness," Griswold said, approaching them and bowing to the infant. "Sir Hawkins. Maid Jean. May I present my newly-wed wife, Lady Gwendolyn?" 

Hawkins jumped to his feet and bowed. "Congratulations to you both."

Jean followed suit more slowly, as she was still holding the infant. "This is an unexpected surprise, but not unwelcome for all that!" she said. "May you have a long and happy marriage."

"Thank you both," Gwendolyn said. "I hear that you, too, are to be wed; I wish you every happiness, just as I have already gained."

"And I too wish you happiness equal to my own," Griswold said. "I look forward to being a faithful ally to the new king for many years to come."

Jean hoisted the infant higher into her arms, doing her best to ignore the gruel that this sent rubbing against her neck and no doubt dripping down her bodice. "I am sure the king appreciates your allyship greatly, or at least he will as soon as he is old enough to understand what an ally is," she said. "And in the meantime, Hawkins and I are both grateful that you are an ally to England. And we are very, very happy for you both."

They all bowed again, and Gwendolyn and Griswold made their way across the room to the table where Griswold and his men were wont to sit. "I really am happy for them," Hawkins said. He took the infant from Jean, who dabbed at her bodice with a napkin as she sat back down. "She seems to like him well enough, and the marriage will get her safely away from this place to somewhere where she can have a new home."

"And it solves some of our problems," Jean said. "Now that Princess Gwendolyn is the wife of our strongest ally, nobody can ask us to even consider executing her."

"Definitely not," Hawkins agreed. "Say, have you ever thought of doing what they must have done and just up and getting married some night? No more waiting."

"I think you can wait one more week," Jean said. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek; any more than that would have to wait until they weren't quite so surrounded by observers. "It's only a few more days, and then we have the whole of our lives ahead of us."

"I know," he said. "I'm so glad you're mine, and the true king is on the throne. Or, well, sitting in my lap in a chair next to the throne. It's better not to get gruel on the throne anyway. I couldn't be happier right now."

"And life couldn't possibly better be," Jean said, and leaned her head on his shoulder.


End file.
